


“I Miss You…”

by Afanofthings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, I put it as major character death even though the character is already dead, So does that still count?, i don’t know, very much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afanofthings/pseuds/Afanofthings
Summary: Tony and Peter go visit Steve’s grave.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, implied Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	“I Miss You…”

**Author's Note:**

> This is very, very sad. I don’t know why I made it, but I really like it and feel that it’s worth sharing so… here you go. Enjoy!

The drive there was silent, like the inside of the car. Neither of the two in the vehicle uttered a single word; the air was too somber, depressing, dismal. Just like the current state of their lives.

  
Peter was sat in the drivers seat of his father’s car dressed in all black, a small bouquet of red, white, and blue roses in his lap. His arm was leaned against the edge of the window, his head propped up by his fist. He watched as the gray-ish brown trees passed by in a messy blur, like his thoughts; constantly moving, never stopping. The memories—they kept him awake at night, distracted him during school, made him cry every time he was alone. 

He closed his eyes and his Father’s image flashed before him, shield in hand as he ran towards the three-headed, scaly, hundred foot monstrosity that had invaded his home planet. As he got closer, Peter watched as the beast raised a massive claw, his Father unaware of the action. He screamed out his name, “POPS!” but to no avail; he couldn’t hear him. The teenager was too far. He couldn’t do anything but watch as his life unraveled in front of him.

Peter snapped his eyes open, not wanting to re-live the moment his father got crushed by the enormous, sharp claw again. He couldn’t handle it; it was still to fresh. Like a severe wound that hasn’t healed quite yet. But with time, it should heal properly. Or so he has been told, by various members of friends and family.

He felt a few hot tears run down his cheeks, drip down his chin and onto his tuxedo; leaving small wet splotches on the fabric. He brought a shaky hand up to his face and wiped just beneath his eyes; leaving wet streaks on the soft, pale skin. He shifted in his seat, then grabbed the flowers and gently brought them to his chest. He felt more tears cascade downward, though he remained silent.

The car came to a slow stroll as it drove through an open metal gate and into a small clearing of grass. It finally came to a stop, but Peter didn’t move. He felt both an overwhelming numbing and saddness feeling in his chest that was consuming him the longer he sat there. This happened every time they came here; to visit his deceased father. The memories, the tightness in his chest, the unwillingness to move and accept the fact that he was gone. Forever. And he never got a chance to say goodbye... And he never will. He never got the chance to say ‘I love you’ one last time, and that might be what hurt him the most—the fact that his father never got to hear him say anything before he left.

He felt a soft yet firm hand gently grip his shoulder. He looked up with watery, piercing-blue eyes to see his Dad looking at him with a small, sorrowful smile on his face. “Come on, Kiddo... Let’s go deliver those to your Pops...” Tony said as he gestured to the roses in his son’s lap. Peter nodded, then opened his door and slowly climbed out. He stepped around the vehicle and started to walk; his mind on autopilot, his gaze cast downward, for he was all too familiar with the area and his destination.

He watched as a few lone tears dripped from his chin and landed on the soft, dull-green and yellow grass below. He sniffled, hunched his shoulders, brought the flowers closer to his chest making his suit wrinkle. The bitter wind of November made the air feel like ice against his skin as it blew his hair in all directions.

He stopped his slow, crestfallen walk when he found the grave he was looking for. He crouched down and delicately placed the bouquet in front of the polished granite that read:

‘Here lies Steven Grant Rogers-Stark.

July 4, 1918 — September 11, 2017

May he rest in peace. For he was a good man who

died protecting his country, and the world.

He was the Step-Father of Peter Rogers-Stark, and the

husband of Tony Rogers-Stark,

though he will always be a part of their family,

even when not physically there.’

He felt more hot tears prick the corners of his eyes as he re-read the gravestone for the umpteenth time. He didn’t know what suddenly came over him, but he lunged forward and tightly wrapped his arms around the heavy stone in a crushing, desperate hug. His knees sank into the soft earth beneath him as he started to cry; not caring if anyone saw or heard, even though it was only him and his other father at the entire graveyard.

“I miss you, Pops,” he cried out between sobs. “I miss you s-so much...”

He heard the soft crunching of dry grass behind him as he continued to cry onto the solid stone. He soon felt a comforting hand rest gently on his shoulder. He stood up briskly and wrapped his arms around his Father’s torso in a tight embrace, burying his face in the layers of his black tuxedo and under shirt. He sobbed even harder; his body now shaking as it was racked with seemingly endless pained cries and tears.

Tony enveloped his son as he buried his face in the mop of chestnut curls underneath his chin. He tried to pour as much affection and care into the hug as he possibly could to try and comfort his son. He inhaled deeply as he tried his best not to cry at seeing his husband six feet below him and the boy in his arms in such a heartbroken state. He had to stay strong for the both of them, if not himself.

“W-Why...?” Peter choked out, his voice hoarse and thick from crying. “Why d-did he have to g-go...?!” He squeezed his Father tighter as he cried harder.

“I don’t know, Kiddo... I don’t know... It’s okay, though. He wouldn’t— “ Tony struggled to keep his voice steady as he fought a sob in his own throat. He swallowed thickly, then tried to resume speaking without a wavering voice. “He wouldn’t want us to spend all of our time crying over his... his death. He would want us to m-move on and live our lives. A-And we need to do that, okay? We need to fulfill his wish. Can you do that? Can we do that? For him?”

Peter shakily nodded his head as his sobs came to a slow stop, though he continued to sniffle as hot tears fell down his pink cheeks. He pulled away and looked up at his Father, who gently cupped the sides of his head and placed a kiss to his forehead, “Come on. Let’s go home.”


End file.
